


Tron: R3ZOLUTION

by Midniitespecial



Category: Tron (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, As the writer I have no control, Corporate Espionage, Corporate Politics, Del Taco, Exploration of Past Grief and Trauma, F/M, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healing, I ignored everything that wasn't in the movies basically, I like to think of this as the novelization of the movie sequel that we never got, Introspection, Mostly Canon Compliant, Platonic Relationships, Post-Tron: Legacy, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slice of Life, This thing writes itself okay, Trauma, possible friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midniitespecial/pseuds/Midniitespecial
Summary: Sam is working to re-build The Grid, but it’s tougher than he thought. The work his father did was genius, ahead of his time. Even with today’s technology, he’s struggling to rewrite the precious code that birthed The Grid. But going through his father’s old possessions, journals with mad scribblings that offer beacons of hope from time to time, and utilizing Quorra’s vast knowledge of her previous home is bringing them closer to their goal.When Quorra was young, when she first arrived onto The Grid with all the others, she was above all, curious. She marveled at the sparkling city, watching the play of light shine on her fingertips like water or dreams. There was no way she could have predicted the events that led to her becoming the sole survivor of The Purge, the last remnants of Kevin Flynn’s miracle. Her mentor and friend always talked about the world beyond The Grid, filled with sunlight and laughter, television and fast food. Now that she finally left the dark world she’d called home, she’s realized that maybe it wasn’t so different from The Grid after all. So when she finds Sam late one night, asleep over an old journal of his father’s, covered in mathematical equations and code, she offers to help him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes that may be apparent. I tried my best to edit this myself, but if you see any grammar mistakes feel free to point them out, and I'll try to edit them later. With that, please enjoy chapter one! More notes at the end of the chapter~

Quorra woke up alone in the dark. Her legs were hot and she could feel her t-shirt clinging to her skin with sweat. 

For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was until she felt the small warm body of Marvin by her feet. His little eyes reflected the light from her alarm clock, casting judgement on her for waking up too early at one am. She let her head fall back to the pillow and groaned. Another nightmare. She thought they were getting better- she hadn’t had one in a week. Taking care not to startle or hit Marvin, she threw off the dark grey sheets and headed to the bathroom. She needed a shower.

The hot water on her face felt wonderful, and she didn’t move from under the spray for a long time.

In some dreams, she was fighting a faceless program, throwing her disc and watching as it never flew fast enough, waking up just before she got de-rezzed. More often, it was the bridge— the portal. She watched Sam as he watched his father, protecting him like she promised. She did nothing as Flynn re-integrated with Clu, even though all she wanted in that moment was to bury her disc in his chest and watch his body disintegrate.

She stared at the smooth white tile until the water got cold, and stepped out. Without the shower running, the sudden silence was a jarring, muted echo of nothingness. She felt too alone and too exposed all at once.

If Marvin was sleeping in her room, Sam must have left. He’d probably come back before three, she assured herself, but if he didn’t, she’d go look for him. In the meantime… she could try and go back to sleep. She _should_ go back to sleep. But the after image of the nightmare still burned bright when she closed her eyes, seared into her mind like a brand. She’d probably just dream it all again when she finally drifted off.

Marvin whined at her feet. Stooping down, she scratched his chin. “Sorry I woke you, Marv. I’ve been having trouble regulating my sleep,” she told him, “and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

The look on Clu’s face was so full of hate. Every time the memory manifested itself as a dream, that detail always survived.

As if she weren’t angrier.

She scooped Marvin up into her arms, glad for the company. Maybe Sam had just moved to the couch and fallen asleep there. She walked in the dark, trusting her memory to guide her through the hallway, and flicked on the warm beige lights. She half expected to find Sam on the couch, passed out with a laptop on his chest, but it was empty. There was a blanket strewn haphazard on the cushions, though, as if someone had tried to sleep there and then thought better of it.

She set Marvin down, and he jumped up on the couch, snuffling and walking in a little circle. When he was satisfied with his ritual, he curled into a ball and yawned. At least somebody was going to have a good night’s rest.

She rubbed the back of her neck, thinking she felt the whisper of a breeze of air against it. Despite the shower, she was still tired and restless at the same time. She was about to sit and turn on the t.v when she she spotted Sam’s punching bag hanging in the corner.

Marvin snuffled softly. _Might as well._

She took a breath and closed her eyes. She let the events of the dream play out in order, as clearly as she could remember it. When she finally reached the bridge, looked back at Clu and reached for the grappling gun, she stopped. This was the moment Clu had turned his back already.

Quorra raised her leg and kicked.

She attacked the bag with everything she had, with all four limbs and every move she knew. She yelled with her punches, yelled when the bag stung her forearms as it came into sharp contact, and shouted wordless curses as her knuckles met it’s surface. She hit and hit, blocked and knee’d it a few times, until finally, exhausted, she fell against the wall, breathing hard.

She was probably scaring the hell out of Marvin, but when she looked over at him, he was only watching her with big, round eyes. He sniffed.

She felt a little better, successfully beating the crap out of Dream Clu. But it was 3:00 now, and there was no roar from the engine of Sam’s Ducati pulling up the driveway.

She pulled on a pair of shoes, her leather jacket and grabbed her keys. After telling Marvin to “go to bed” like Sam did, and watching him leap into his little round cushion, she hit the button on the wall and the garage door rose up. Sam’s Mustang was nice. He offered to get her a bike like his, but when she declined, he offered her the car instead. _A classic,_ he called it. The classic car was beautiful, but more importantly, it was fast. It would only take her about 10 minutes to get to Flynn’s arcade.

As the engine purred, and the city whipped by at 50 miles an hour, she couldn’t help but to savor it. The streetlights shone off the tall building windows like so many mirrors and just above them, she could make out the stars. When she first saw the sun, brighter than anything she’d ever seen before, she heard Sam’s words in her head: _Bright. Warm. Beautiful._

It was even better than what she’d imagined.

She gripped him tight, closed her eyes, and laughed when she realized her face was warm because of it.

Her eyes were sore for a few days but she only laughed about that too- she’d never been in the presence of anything so bright for long. Apparently, it stayed up there twelve hours a day, every day except for the winter. It was stunning. But when night fell and only the softest light came from a phone screen or a window, she felt a sense of calm she couldn’t find in the day. In the back of her mind she knew why.

She’d refrained from calling this world “home” since she’d gotten here- until a few days ago. They were out, just enjoying the night when Sam said something like “Do you want to head home?” and she’d said yes. It didn’t occur to her until later that she hadn't hesitated like she usually did. She didn’t even think. They were synonymous in her mind, that word and the metal compound by the bridge.

Was this home now? This strange world with night and day, shaped like a sphere in a vacuous black nothing? Where the sky was full of light but the drinks weren’t? There were no programs here, no discs, no de-resolution. There was the sun, there were cell phones, and when a person died, they were left whole, a grim reminder of what once was. 

She cut herself a few days ago, and was shocked to find bright red blood welling up on her arm.

It was a painful reminder that in this world, she bleeds. She and Sam talked about it as he showed her how to clean a cut.

She stared at the way it dried on her arm, how her skin didn’t fracture and held it’s shape for the most part. Her body felt even more foreign to her than it already had.

“I bleed like you. Like a User.”

“You do.” He agreed, picking up a brown bottle. “This’ll sting.”

It did, but not that much. He apologized anyway, saying “Sorry, sorry.”

“What is that?” She asked, watching the peroxide bubble and foam in the cut.

“Hydrogen Peroxide. It’s a disinfectant. Kills the bad bacteria.”

 _Disinfectant._ She took a moment to memorize the dull, throbbing pain that went along with disinfectant.

The sensation brought a fleeting memory back to her.

“I had to help Flynn do this once.” She said. Sam’s head whipped up.

“He got hurt?”

She nodded. “He was looking for something in Clu’s database, and he got caught. I told him he should have waited for me, but he said it was a once in a lifetime chance. He did get what he was looking for, but he was hit in the back, when a blackguard tried to get his disc. It wasn’t a shallow cut, but it healed. I’d never seen a User bleed before. I didn’t know it could be so dark.”

Sam frowned, dabbing at her arm with a cotton ball. When it was dry, and the blood stopped coming, he reached for a bandaid. He looked like he was about to say something, about how reckless his father was, maybe, but he didn’t.

“That’s blood for you. Real, User blood.”

“I know this body is human, but sometimes I forget. I have a hard time believing it, still. If we were in the grid, this wound would look very different.

Sam smiled and collected everything back into the bathroom. “Well, you look human. And,” he said, nudging her shoe, “yeah, it would look different. But you still look like you, Quorra. Same old badass.”

That made her laugh. “I am bad ass.”

He laughed too, shrugging. “And, you know… You’re a survivor. You’re strong, Quorra. And I admire that in you. That after everything’s that’s happened, you can still smile and laugh when a toaster surprises you.”

She smiled and blushed. That was new too. Just one more crazy thing she could do in this world. In this body. She brought her arm closer to her face, and poked at the bandage again. Felt the rough texture of the gauze with her fingertips, the tape pulling at the small hairs of her arm. A small measure of pain. Sam wasn’t wrong… but he wasn’t quite right either. She knew how strong she was.

But it wasn’t because she was made that way. She remembered, in great terrible detail, how the mantle of that strength was forced upon her.

“I feel…” she started. Sam waited, watching her inspect the bandage for the hundredth time, trying to put into words the conflicting emotions that were battling each other like waves in a storm. Each one pulling at a darker part of her, her history, and bringing it to the surface. Each one telling her something different. 

“I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. I was an ISO. I was Flynn’s miracle. I was a warrior, a friend. And now I’m a User—human. I’ve been fighting all my life, for myself and for others. And now it’s all over. I mean, I wanted it to be over, of course I did, I’m, I—“ She could feel the threat of tears coming on, and fought past them. She took a breath. She needed to say this to him.

“I am at peace. Finally. And it’s so nice. It is _so nice,_ Sam. But we both payed a steep price for it. And I still feel like i’m fighting something. I just don’t know what.” 

Sam’s eyes flicked to her cheeks and back, and she realized she’d been crying. She didn’t know when she started.

Voice steady, she said, “For the longest time, I had one purpose, one initiative: stop Clu. And we did. And now It’s like… the world has slowed down by 300 percent, and I’m still going at the same rate.”

He leaned over, and took her hand in his. She held on tight, trying to find an answer in it.

“Quorra,“ he said, comforting, “what you’re feeling? It’s normal. And you have every right to feel this way. No one comes back from war the same. It’s just takes a little time to adjust. You know, people change all the time. I’d even argue that we’re always changing. You’re in a state of change, Quorra, but you are who you’ve always been. You will be alright.”

“What if I never am?” She asked, her voice small. 

“Then I will help you,” Sam said, giving her hands a small squeeze,“I promise.”

She googled “trauma” and a host of other words that she discovered on the internet that night. And Sam was right- what she was feeling was normal. Apparently, all she needed was time.

The light coming up turned yellow so she floored it, barely beating the red. A quick right brought her onto Culver Boulevard, and she parked at the curb. Did a pretty good job of it too, if she said so herself. Maybe she should rethink Sam’s offer to get her a motorcycle.

The street was awfully quiet. She was a little hesitant to slam the car door shut, and simply eased it closed until the lock clicked, giving it a good nudge with her hip. Her boots were simple, half inch heels, good for walking and giving a bit of weight to a kick, but they still echoed through the street. A quick look around told her no one else was in the neighborhood- not like they had any reason to be at 3 am.

On a clear night she could see the bright, neon red of the “FLYNN’S” sign reflected on the asphalt like obsidian, but the sign was off. Anxiety curled in her gut and she took a steadying breath: it had an automatic timer. It could have turned off by itself. But if Sam wasn’t here, she didn’t know where else he might be. Encom, maybe. Or Alan’s.

She hurried inside.

“Sam? Are you in here?”

Quorra stood in the dark before remembering to reach for the wall. She flicked the switch on, then off and on again. Hmm. She found the breaker box in the corner and with her phone light, flipped the switch marked “MAIN”.

The arcade flared to life. Games turned on and so did the sound system, serenading her with guitar and lyrics about a cowboy on a metal horse.

She paused a moment to take it in. It was the same as the first time she’d seen it- dusty, cluttered, with strangely soft carpet flooring. It felt like a new adventure stepping out those doors and into Flynn’s world a couple months ago, but now it was singed with the memory of the last time she’d seen Flynn. How he saved them, exploding into light with Clu gripped close to his chest.

Shaking the memory off, she walked down the center aisle to the back. She passed the flashing lights of games proclaiming high scores and stopped in front of the the most important one in the arcade.

 _Tron_ it said, stylized in a bright neon blue. She stared at the game that played on it’s screen. Two pixelated lightcycles chased each other, trailing light streams of yellow and blue. The yellow one took a sharp turn, and the blue crashed into it, ending the game. She frowned. The game started again, computer playing against itself, forever and ever in random patterns. There was no rhyme or reason over who would win.

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a quarter, slim and warm. She stuck it into the bright orange slot and played a game as the blue lightcycle. She won a few rounds, but when the screen asked for another coin to continue, she let the countdown hit zero and walked to the side of the machine. She pushed, and slowly the game slid away from the wall, revealing the narrow hallway that led to Kevin Flynn’s workstation.

Sam was there. He was hunched over on his father’s old desk, asleep. But under his head, Quorra could make out handwriting that she’d seen before.

It was Flynn’s.

Carefully sliding the journal from under Sam’s head, she flipped through it’s pages, heart beating faster as she recognized the equations and code.

“Is this what I think it is?” She asked. Sam didn’t stir.

“Sam!” She shook his shoulder.

He jolted, awake now, and quickly calmed when he saw who woke him.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook the journal. “Is this what I think it is?”

Sam sighed, his shoulders lowering as if they’d remembered a great weight. “Yeah. It’s my dad’s. It’s his codes for The Grid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd write Tron fanfiction, but I'm a huge nerd for Tron and I just couldn't resist! I wanted to know what was going to happen next, and since somebody *cough cough* DISNEY *cough cough* doesn't see the Tron Franchise as worthy of a third installment, I decided to write my own! Damn it! I really wrote this from my heart, so I hope you've enjoyed reading it! I've certainly enjoyed writing. As it says up there in the tags, I really wanted to explore how the experiences of Legacy changed the characters. For Quorra, it's going to a new world, and for Sam, it's finding his father and The Grid, and losing them both. 
> 
> Watching Legacy, I know it changed movies for a lot of us. I can only imagine how if felt for Sam, who actually experienced it. (ya know, as a fictional character and all.) So once again, thank you for reading! I intend to update sometime before December 17 of this year, the 9 year anniversary of Tron Legacy. I just thought it'd be neat to release this first chapter a little ahead of time, especially today, the anniversary of Tron the Original Movie! I have about 4 chapters ready, and I think i'm almost halfway done, so this fic may be 10-11 chapters in length. See ya then!
> 
> Edit: Dec. 3 2019: uni is kicking my BUTT and I haven't been able to make as much progress in the fic as I'd like. So I'm going to upload chapter 2 soon, within the week, and I might push back the rest of the chapters until the tenth anniversary, in Dec. 2020.... But I also don't want to wait that long, so I'll try my best to finish writing before then! Thanks to those who have read and left kudos! It really warms my little heart that people are enjoying this!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY TRON DAY!! I wanted to get this up earlier but better late then never! Thanks to everyone who's been waiting for chapter updates! Uni's been kicking my butt with time, but I've slowly been making progress on this. I fully intend to complete this fic but it's taking me a bit longer than I thought. I wanted to upload this whole thing on Tron's Anniversary, but it's still not done, so I may wait until 2020 to post the entire thing. I do have a few chapters finished though (like up to four or five), so if you'd rather see those ASAP let me know in the comments! Again, thanks to anyone who's been waiting patiently for chapters, and thanks to everyone who's given this a read!
> 
> EDIT: 5/01/2020 I made some very minor changes with the dialogue between Alan and Sam to better reflect Sam and Quorra's relationship status. The relationship tags on this fic may change as well.

NONE OF THIS was making any sense. The algorithms, the fragments of source code, none of it. Well, technically, it made sense, but all together? Sam couldn’t figure out how it added up to The Grid. The journals he found in his fathers office must have been old, when his program was in it’s beginning stages. 

The download he saved from the main server was corrupted when he uploaded it to his laptop. Lines were missing or broken … it was just a mess. He was trying to be grateful that he had a skeleton to work with, at least. But it had been weeks and he was nowhere close to even _starting_ the patches.

He leaned back in his fathers chair, muscles stiff and sore from being hunched over. He scrunched his eyes closed, but it hurt. How long had it been since he blinked?

He’dsearched through his fathers computer, looking for anything that might have been a backup for The Grid. What kind of programmer doesn’t backup their programs?? It was frustrating. He knew it had to be somewhere, but he’d given up in lieu of possibly just re-writing the thing himself.

Fat luck. Maybe he should have finished college. The stuff his father was working on was years, decades or more ahead of his time. He thought about reaching out, posting something on an untraceable server, having someone smarter than him try to figure this out. He quickly shut that thought down. He couldn’t risk it. This world his father had created wasn’t just a marvel of technology. It created life— _intelligent_ life. It was spontaneous, yeah, but something with that kind of potential couldn’t just be shuffled around like an unsolved Rubix cube. 

He needed to find the backup. 

And he needed to talk to Alan. But that could wait until morning. _Ugh._ There was a board meeting at the company. He was making an announcement and they weren’t going to like it. His phone said it was only 2:37 AM. He’d just rest his eyes for a minute…

Someone was shaking him. 

“Sam!”

It was Quorra. One hand was urgent on his arm— in the other was the journal.

“Is this what I think it is?” she asked. 

He nodded, groggy. “Yeah. It’s my dad’s. It’s his notes for The Grid.”

“You found them?” Her eyes were bright with hope. He hated to be the one to kill it. 

He shook his head, taking back the journal and opening them to the page he was on. 

“Yeah, but they’re not complete. They look old, older than The Grid. I think these are his notes when he was first starting, because they’re too simple. Read this.”

Quorra read the algorithm he was pointing to. She scanned it again, confused. 

“It’s similar to what’s on my— what _was_ on my disc. But it’s only a third of it. The input should be greater.”

“Yeah. And as far as I can tell, _this,”_ He said, flipping to a different page,“has to do with that.” He hitched his thumb behind him, at the ancient laser pointed right at his back. “But a lot of the rest of these are either beyond me, or commands that could work in any system.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk, watching the terminal blink. “I’m sorry, Sam. I spent a long time with him, and I knew him well. But I could never understand the exact mechanics of our world. I could barely understand the algorithms that ran in my disc. I wish I could be of more help.” 

In the Grid, he distinctly remembered her eyes being more blue. Out here, they were almost two tone- half green, half blue. Was that a consequence of coming out here? Or was it always too dark in there to see the true color of her eyes? Did the process change her, somehow?

“I know you want to go back.”

She shrugged, not denying it. “The Grid was my home, before Clu ravaged it. It was all I knew. Your world,” she said, gesturing with a wave of her hand, “It’s amazing. It’s beautiful— like you said. But… you know how I feel,” she said, pausing, “What I’ve lost. If I can help you rebuild it, I want to.”

She handed him the journal, and he tossed it on the pile. “I’ll keep looking for the backup,” he said, “I’ll find it.” 

He saw the hope bloom in her eyes again. Wondered what she saw in his. 

Neither of them were as smart as Flynn. But he was his father’s son: and Quorra knew more about The Grid than anyone. She even knew Flynn better than he did, he thought. They could do this. If they couldn’t rebuild The Grid, then they could at least the find the damn backup. 

“What time is it?” He asked. His phone was dead by now.

She took hers out and showing him the screen said, “Early.” 

He groaned. “I have a board meeting tomorrow. Thank god for international share holders that wake up when it’s 12 pm in Jersey.” 

“As your consultant, should I be there?”

Technically, he’d already consulted her about it. He shook his head, “Not if you don’t want to. I think it’d be overtime for you anyway.”

“Good,” she said, pushing off of the desk and going for the door, “You can tell me all about it when you get back.”

Quorra drove them home. His mind was awake, but his body still begged for sleep and the passenger side lured him with its plush comfort. He watched the city rush by as she challenged the speed limit, willing the engine to work harder, go faster. _Speed racer,_ he thought. 

A few things really changed for him when he took over Encom— and a few things didn’t. He kept his apartment, but added another shipping container complete with a bedroom and walk in closet. It was the perfect hideout for Quorra, who at the time, didn’t have a social security card or a record of birth. When he did eventually get her those things, she was hired as his Executive Consultant. It allowed her to roam Encom freely, join him in board meetings, and use their security clearance. In essence, it gave her a massive amount of freedom. She didn’t have to rely on Sam for money, or even a place to stay, if she wanted. After the sudden firing of Richard Mackey and rehiring of himself, her sudden presence did turn a few heads at Encom and even on the news. But it would die down, and when less eyes were on them, they could start making some real progress on The Grid. 

Lately he’d been spending more time at the company than he liked. Now that the shareholders meeting was upcoming, he’d been busy getting his proposal finished, and with Alan’s help, was working on a presentation that would convince the shareholders that going back to the way the company used to be run was the best thing for Encom. 

“Are you nervous?” Quorra asked at breakfast, sipping at the light blue gatorade in her glass. When he asked her about it, she said it reminded her of something she used to drink in The Grid.

“A little. I’d compare it to jumping off the roof of a very, very tall building.” He cut a triangle of omelet with the edge of his fork, raised it to eat.“They’re not gonna like what I have to say.”

“Probably not. I think I remember your father telling me about his time as CEO. They didn’t care much for his grand ideas either,” she said, earning a chuckle from Sam.

“Yeah. Free operating system, the focus on games instead of contracts. I want to bring that Encom back. _That’s_ the company I want to be running.”

“Military contracts,” she said, contemplating a piece of egg on her fork. 

“Yup. Our current breadwinner. They won’t be thrilled I want to start cutting back on them.”

Quorra finished chewing and nodded. “You’ll convince them.”

He had to. 

On one side of his closet, shoved as far as they could go, were a few hangers with very expensive suits on them. Alan had gone with him the day after he’d called an emergency board meeting and flashed the media with a shirt that read FLYNN LIVES. He called him, grinning, “This new CEO needs some new suit-EO’s.” 

But all the jokes and quips he could muster didn’t sway his anxiety. As the tailor measured his inseam and shoulder seam and all the other seams, he waited for Alan to ask the questions: _What happened that night? What did you see? Did you find your father?_

But he never did, focusing more on Sam’s takeover. Or maybe he sensed how much Sam didn’t want to talk about it, because either way, what could he say? 

What would Alan think when he told him that he’d actually gone _inside_ a computer and evaded a digital tyrant that shared his fathers 30 year old face? He couldn’t even prove it because the data was destroyed. 

But he wanted to know if Alan knew. And why would he send him to the arcade, blind like that? It was settled then; he’d ask him after the board meeting was done with. He’d invite him over, with Quorra there as backup and witness, and tell him what happened. 

And the worst thing he kept shoving to the back of his mind: If he did know, why wouldn’t he _say_ anything? How could his father not tell his best friend that he’d created another world? 

Well. Maybe for the same reasons Sam had reservations about telling him now. 

He was getting dizzy inside his own head. He reached for the closest suit on the hanger, threw it on the bed and started to dress. He couldn’t remember how much he paid for it. He didn’t want to remember. And it was no use going over ridiculous hypotheticals. He had one thing to do today, and he needed to focus. Hopefully, it didn’t turn into one big shit storm. 

—————————————————

From his place at the head of the table, Sam did his best to ignore the looks of shock and confusion on the board member’s faces. So much for hoping things would go smoothly. 

“Excuse me?” Said Erica. Her perfectly manicured hand fell to the table with a _thunk._ She owned three mansions and over 15 million in Encom stock, along with other smaller commodities.Not the largest shareholder, but enough to get her a seat on the board. And enough to worry about if this went south.

“Sorry, I’ll speak up,” he said, not raising his voice at all, “I’m releasing OS -13 in the fall completely free of charge. We’ll also be shifting our focus from military contracts back into the games division.” 

“This company has remained profitable because of those contracts we hold with the government. Why on earth would you jeopardize that? The stability of your company? Alan, as head of this board, don’t you have some reservations about all this?” Martin asked. He represented a trust account with roughly ten people attached to it. Sam vaguely remembered that one of them had invented a line of all natural cleaning products.

Alan cleared his throat. “Encom didn’t gain the maturity and notoriety it has until we released our video games on the market. I think this would be a fantastic move, a little change in the way we’ve been doing things.” 

Sam nodded. “Thank you, Alan. Martin, I’m not jeopardizing anything. I’m not saying that we will no longer take military contracts- I know how much of an asset they are. I’m saying that I want to redistribute our efforts a little to better accommodate the gaming sector. I think we can do great things if we go back to our roots. We can make Encom a household name again,” He said. 

“With what?” asked Josue, “the 9-13 demographic? Children with chore money?” 

Natsuki, a shareholder who owned the fifth largest amount of stock, spoke up. “Please. The video game industry caters to a much wider demographic then that. _World of Warcraft? Mario Kart_ ringing any bells? _Call of Duty?_ Everyone plays video games, Josue, not just kids. It’s a profitable market.”

Relief swept through Sam. Finally, someone who saw what he was doing. Josue clearly didn’t like him. The moment he walked in, the man goaded him like they were in a high school classroom, not a board room. 

“Forget your parachute at home, Mr. Flynn?” he asked, barely containing his distain for Sam.

“It’s in the car,” he replied, “I have another if you have some free time after this.” Oh, the look on his face was priceless. 

“Autostereoscopy has some interesting possibilities that I don’t think Sony or Microsoft have really taken advantage of,” said Ed Dillinger from the far end of the table. He hadn’t spoken until now, observing everything calmly from his chair like a cat on a perch. 

Often, even when he wasn’t talking, Sam felt Dillinger’s gaze on him, taking in his expressions, the way his eyes moved around the room. “If I may say,” he continued,“I think right now is a great time to make Encom a major player in the game industry again. The company’s anniversary is coming up in a year. We can celebrate by re-releasing the first video games this company made. The video games your father made, Sam.”

“Auto- what?” Erica asked.

“ _Autostereoscopy_ ,” Dilinger repeated, slowly, “it’s screen technology that allows the user to experience a game in 3D without the glasses.”

“Nintendo uses it in their 3DS line,” Added Natsuki. “It’s unique. Engaging.”

“Interesting,” Said Erica, with a sharp raised brow. Sam thought he could see the dollar signs flash in her eyes. 

“Does anyone have any more concerns they’d like to voice while we’re here?” Alan asked the table. They’d only agreed to meet for an hour and it was well past that now. 

A few members looked as if they wanted to protest a little more, but what could they say that hadn’t already been voiced? No one spoke. Then Carmen raised her pen.

“Mr. Flynn, I’m sure I speak for more than a few people here who are a little taken aback by this sudden turn in the companies agenda. We’ve seen your projections for the video game market alongside the company’s and I _am_ impressed; but I’d like to know what you plan to do next year if, God forbid, Encom’s stock takes a dip because of this new direction? A contingency plan, if you will.” 

Sam could practically hear the shift in the air as every head whipped towards him. Pens stopped clicking and shoes stopped tapping as everyone waited for his answer. 

He had never, in his life, been a person who was afraid to take risks. He’d jumped from skyscrapers in the pitch black night,pushed 100 on the highway on his Ducati and had fought against hardened programs in a gladiator style cage match, for crying out loud.

He smiled his response Carmen, at the room. 

“I’m confident in our very hardworking employees, engineers, and heads of design and creativity in our game development sector. I know that they can and will carry this company to, if not profitability, then at least stable sales with their ingenuity. I’ve seen what they want to develop, the projects they’ve had to put on the back burner because we’ve been so focused on fulfilling our military contracts. I even have a few ideas myself I’d like to bring to fruition. I’ll call another meeting in six months to discuss those with you all. After that, I’m sure any fears or concerns this board has _will_ be alleviated.”

The promise of another update seemed to satisfy them. When no one commented any further, Alan tapped his knuckles against the glass. “Alright. I think that closes this meeting up nicely. Everyone, thank you for your questions and concerns. We’ll see you all in six months.” 

With everyone gone and out of earshot, Alant turned to his godson.

“You handled that very nicely. See? And you thought you weren’t ready to take control of a fortune 500 company.”

He laughed softly at the memory. It seemed like months ago that conversation happened. “Mhm. Well, like father like son, huh Alan?” 

“Yeah… speaking of?” His demeanor changed- he looked concerned. “You mind telling me where you keep running off to?”

“I’m right here, Alan.”

“No, I mean in _here,”_ he said, pointing to his head with one slim index finger. 

Had he seemed distracted?

“You seem distracted.” 

Oh. Well that answered that. “I’ve been thinking about something, yeah. A … a project me and Quorra have been working on.”

“A project? With your new _Executive Consultant?”_

He knew Alan was only teasing him with that tone, but he couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that slipped out of him. “Yes, with my new Executive Consultant.”

“You know, you can tell me if you’re dating someone, Sam. I’d be happy for you. I don’t enjoy the blatant nepotism, but…” he trailed off, shrugging. 

Oh boy. Alan truly thought they were dating. Him and Quorra… he didn’t even know how to approach the topic, let alone with Quorra. He liked her—but they’d gotten close while trapped in The Grid, fighting sentries and repurposed programs, running for their lives. He wasn’t fool enough to think that warranted a romantic relationship. 

Quantifying exactly what they were was weird. Friends was the closest word he knew, but that barely scratched the surface of it. They were more than that… but they weren’t. 

“We’re just friends, and roommates. Colleagues,” sort of? “And it’s not nepotism,” sort of, “she’s good at what she does. The best in her field. I value her expertise because it’s _expert_ not because it’s her.”

Alan gave him a look that said _you really expect me to believe that’s all?_

“Alright, hold on. Of course I like her. But we’re—” just getting to know each other? Learning who we are when we’re not running for our lives? “I trust her with my life. But we’re not dating.” 

Alan tipped his head. “Okay. Glad to hear you’re not lying to yourself about how you feel for her, at least. Are you going to introduce me to her, formally?”

This was it. His in. “Actually, I was hoping you could come by tonight. Have dinner with us?” 

He beamed. “That sounds wonderful, Sam. I’d love to.” 

The board meeting was all they both had to do at the office that day, so they gathered their things and left. Sam thought about how, as they entered the elevator, he could comment on how much this place had changed since he was a boy. The problem was, he already knew how much it had changed. 

“I still can’t get over how different this place looks,” he said, pushing the L button. 

Alan laughed, unconvinced. “What, you mean in the daylight? Without our security guards chasing after you? I’m sure it looks much different, kid.” 

Just as they were leaving the lobby, someone shouted.

“Sam! Uh—Mr. Flynn.”

Edward was walking briskly toward them. Alan flicked a questioning a glance at Sam. He answered silently, brows raised slightly. _I_ _don’t know either._

_“_ You can call me Sam, Eddy. Mr. Flynn is a little formal.” 

Dillinger laughed and shook his hand, clasping it with both of his. The cologne he wore was suddenly very prominent, despite Sam not being able to smell much of anything in the boardroom. It was dark and heavy, with the faintest note of some dark red fruit. Sam took the smallest of steps back to shield himself from it.

“Well, better safe than sorry. I just came down to formally welcome you. It’s nice to have someone else… in the 18-45 demographic on the board for once.”

Sam snorted. Together, they were the youngest members on the board. 

“I know some of the more mature board members are a little antsy about the new direction you’re taking Encom, but I for one couldn’t be more excited,” he continued, leaning in a bit, as if what he was saying was their little secret. “This whole thing really got started on video games, ya know? It’s about damn time we changed this companies agenda. Your father really knew what he was doing back then. I just wish it stayed that way.”

Sam knew this company’s history, too. “Your father was the CEO back in 85, wasn’t he? He—”

Dillinger bowed his head, “He stole the credit for _your_ father’s video games, I know. But we’re not our fathers, are we?”

That was brazen. Unabashedly so. Earnest or trying to get on his good side? 

“Alan’s told me a lot about you,” Sam said, “and I’ve seen the work you’ve done, the quality of it. I was going to ask you tomorrow, but since you’re here, how do you feel about having an official position on this project? ‘Co-director’ ”, he said, pulling the title from his ass, “has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” The bait was dangling.

Behind his glasses, Dillinger’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“I’d like to see what you come up with for me. According to Alan, you’ve been invaluable as our head engineer, but what do you say to using your talents to create something exciting and fun for once? Revolutionary?”

Alan’s gaze bore into Sam. _What are you doing?_

“Well, I’d be honored,” Dillinger said, enthusiastically taking Sam’s hand and giving it a vigorous shake once again, “I love what I do here, but this- this would be amazing. Thank you, Mr. Fl— Sam. Really. Uh, wow. I’d better get going, though. Still got work to do upstairs.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you again!” he said, briefly turning to Alan as well and bidding him goodbye with a short but polite, “Bradley.”

“Dilinger.”

They watched him go, and when his elevator door had closed, Alan lowered his voice. 

“Keeping your enemies close?” 

“I don’t know Edward. I don’t trust him. What better way to keep an eye on him? Keep him occupied.” Sam held the lobby door open for Alan, and they walked into the parking garage. “What else can you tell me about him?”

“I get where you’re coming from,” He said, “I’ve had my reservations about him myself, but he’s never done anything to earn my distrust. He’s worked hard to earn his place. He’s resourceful, and he can be a bit snarky, but he’s smart.” 

“All the more reason for me to keep him close,” Sam said, unlocking the car. “If he has some _secret agenda_ I intend to find out what it is.” 

“By letting him spearhead your project?” Alan ducked and entered the car, but Sam hesitated. He knew it was risky. He’d never spoken to Edward in his life— all he knew was what his grandparents told him, and what he found on google and in the company records. 

_We’re not our fathers, are we?_

Sooner or later, he would see who the son of Ed Dillinger was. He got in the car.

“He won’t sabotage the company. If he is my enemy, then he’ll want to keep it in good health. In _great_ health.”

“For when he takes over, you mean. Because he’s Dillinger.” 

“I won’t let it come to that,” he said, “He’ll do a good job. He’ll want to impress me. Be my friend, gain my confidence, and I’ll let him. If he does try to take over the company, I’ll be ready.”

“This is a dangerous game, Sam,” Alan warned, “If I were you, I’d keep him at his current position, and wait for him to get bored enough that he leaves on his own. You’re inviting him into the ring, and although I don’t know Edward like I know you, I do know that he’s smart. He stands a solid chance. If you ask me, you’d be an idiot to let him get a punch in just to get closer to you.”

“I can handle it,” Sam said, watching the speedometer climb to 90. “I’ve played dangerous games before.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK SO LONG. Uni really has been taking up all of my time. I guess that's the only GOOD think about this stupid pandemic. I took less classes this semester, so hopefully being at home and having less work will give me extra time to work on this. I'm really pushing to finish this by Tron Legacy's 10th anniversary. I think I said something earlier about not posting this until I actually finish? But screw that. I'm posting. No rules! Thank you to everyone who's bookmarked this, read this, and commented! I really appreciate every single one who seems to be enjoying my little labor of love! I hope you all stay safe, and also six feet away from each other, and I hope this chapter brings some joy into your life. This is why I write. Happy reading!

“YOU WHAT?” QUORRA ASKED, apple forgotten in her hands.

“I may have given the son of my father’s arch nemesis partial creative control of my project? I made Dillinger my Co-Director,” He said.

“Why would you do that?” She knew Sam was prone to recklessness, but this? Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. He must have some plan. 

Sam shrugged— d _on’t know._ “Because I want to keep an eye on him? You should’ve seen him in the lobby, Quorra. He told me _we’re not our fathers, are we?_ The way he said it… he’s up to something.” 

“So you want to watch him. Keep him close?” 

He nodded.

Well, that was something of a plan. But why play the long game when you can end it quick and easy? Easier, even? 

“Why don’t you just fire him?” 

He drew in a long breath, let it out. She wasn’t the first one to suggest that, then.

“He inherited a large amount of stock, large enough that he’s also a board member. I could fire him, but it wouldn’t get rid of him.”

She remembered the story, how Flynn first entered a digital world that was the precursor to The Grid, his effort to recover evidence of Dillinger’s theft. If his son was anything like his father, then perhaps he’d also want control of Encom- either because he felt it was owed to him, or to Dillinger Sr. 

Family was a strong thing. Only time could really tell, but if Sam was correct, then maybe it _would_ be beneficial to keep Dillinger Jr. close, keep him busy with the ridiculous title of Co-Director. If anything, at least she and Sam would know where he was eight hours a day. 

Her plan was better, though. It was quick and efficient. No Dillinger, no threat. But there was the matter of him being a board member…

“I’ll just kidnap him,” She said.

Sam laughed, shaking the cushions a little. “I have absolutely no doubt you could, but please don’t. All that bad press… our stocks would go down… we’d have to get rid of the body… Well, they do say there’s no such thing as _bad_ press.”

Press, press, press. That didn’t used to mean paparazzi, a while ago. 

Sam turned, a weird expression on his face. “I invited Alan over for dinner tonight. I was going to talk to him about—“

“About The Grid?” _Finally,_ she thought. They’d been keeping Bradley in the dark for a while now—Flynn’s best friend deserved to know what happened to him. 

“Yeah” he said, “I think it’s time. I need to know if he knew about what my father was working on. If he even had any idea. And he’s curious about you.”

“About me?” 

“He wants to know who the woman I walked out of the arcade with is.”

Bradley, Alan-One, wanted to know about her. She laughed to herself; new things every day, here. Not having to worry about her identity being revealed was just one more. Instinctively, she pushed at the idea. Keeping her identity a secret was a rule, a commandment she’d had to follow for so long— she didn’t even tell _Sam_ who she really was, until he saw her disc, and he was Flynn’s son. She didn’t have to do that anymore.

“Wow. I’m … sort of curious as well. I haven’t met your godfather yet.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry it isn’t Jules Verne.”

Ha! If only. What a sad world she’d stepped into, when he told her that Verne had been dead for nearly a hundred years. And then on a laptop screen, there he was, his life.

“Yeah, well. At least I have the internet.” 

“Yes, but—“ he said, reaching for the remote, “I think I have the next best thing.”

Sam flipped through the t.v menu, and brought up a show he recorded. The words _The Extraordinary Voyages of Jules Verne_ glowed in a bright, elegant script. She yelled. 

“A documentary?”

“D’you want to watch it?” He asked.

She scoffed, “Of course I do! Raise the volume.” 

The narrator had a soothing accent. She recognized bits of information she’d read online, but watching the reenactments really was an experience. It was like she was there, right as he was writing his famous works. Halfway in, she stuck a pillow behind her head and stuck her feet on Sam’s lap, intent on being as comfortable as possible, wanting to remember everything.

She let her eyes fall closed, not yet asleep, but enjoying the moment. 

* * * * * * *

Something was cooking when she opened her eyes again. Behind her, Sam was busy at the stove. 

“What time did you say Alan would be here?” she asked. Her stomach growled, and she went for the apple she’d left on the counter. A little snack wouldn’t hurt. 

“He’ll be here in about an hour. I was going to wake you in a bit.”

She shrugged. “What’s for dinner?”

He lifted the lid with a flourish, and steam rose around his face like a halo. It smelled amazing.

“Grilled chicken with mushroom sauce and broccoli.”

“Looks good,” she said, impressed. He was upping his cooking game.

From his little bed in the corner, Marvin sniffed. Quorra threw her apple core in the trashcan, and then leaned down to scratch his ears.

“So. How do you want to tell him? Are you just going to…bring it up?”

He gave a half shrug as he flipped the chicken with a shiny pair of tongs. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

They could invite him to the Arcade, where all of their research, Kevin’s journals and computer was. They couldn’t turn it on though- it was just an ancient computer now. Maybe they wouldn’t even need to convince him they were telling the truth. Perhaps in his heart, Bradley knew it was possible. But they would take him eventually, of that Quorra was sure. There had to be something he knew that could help them. He’d programmed Tron, didn’t he?

“He’s going to want to know how you met me,” She said, “Maybe you should tell him.”

“Just like that?”

Quorra gave Marvin one last pet and rose. “Just like that.”

The stove clicked and the fire died as Sam turned the dials. Slowly, the sound of sizzling meat and simmering cream dissipated.

There was a loud metallic knock, and they both looked to the door. 

Sam gave her a reassuring smile, and reached for the remote. “Too late to back out now.”

The garage door rose. The light from the porch wasn’t on, so all Quorra could see at first was his tall frame and silver hair, backlit by distant city lights. Then he stepped inside and Quorra saw him, thin spectacles and an easy smile. He looked kind. 

This was Alan Bradley.

“Alan!”

“Hey Sam,” he said, giving his godson a quick hug, “And Quorra, right?”

“Yes,” She smiled, extending her hand, “Nice to meet you, Alan. Sam’s been telling me all about his godfather.”

“Oh, good things, I hope?”

Sam laughed and closed the door behind him, “Nothing but.”

He told them to take a seat, and served them before sitting down himself. They ate, talking easily between bites. Quorra brought up the subject of work and got an animated retelling of what transpired in the boardroom earlier. Alan laughed as he told herhow red in the face Javier got after being invited to go sky diving. Yup, that was Sam. She had no doubt that he did actually have a parachute in his trunk. 

For desert, Alan brought cheesecake. When Quorra said she’d never had any before, Alan cut her a generous slice, saying “then you’re in luck because this is the best cheesecake this side of L.A.” When she took a bite, she almost couldn’t believe her own mouth.

Alan cut into his slice, making a small triangle with the edge of his fork. “What do you think? Good, right?”

She nodded, stuffing in another bite. “It’s _delicious.”_ She wasn’t sure what to expect from something called “cheese” cake, but it definitely wasn’t a flavor this amazing. They needed cheesecake in their fridge every week from now on. 

The conversation veered into family, then. Sam told Quorra about how when he was a kid, Alan always made sure he felt loved, cared for. How when he was a teenager and his grandparents passed, Alan was there, still, even though Sam was angry and “a huge pain in the ass, to be honest.” Alan only laughed, saying “I didn’t blame you. You were going through a very tough time and you had a right to be angry. I’m just glad I was able to be there for you.”

It made her smile, to hear that. Alan clearly loved Sam like his own. And then—

“So what about you, Quorra?”

“Huh?”

“Where are your folks?” Alan asked, “What are they up to? Any siblings?”

“I uh, I was adopted. When I was older,” she said, glancing at Sam. He was listening to her with a calm expression, ready to go along with whatever she said. “He was a very kind man and taught me everything I know. Taught me how to be a better me.”

“Ah, he sounds like a wonderful father.”

“Yes, he was.” 

Beside her, she heard a small a laugh. Sam was smiling, eyes soft and knowing. 

“And how did you meet this guy?” Alan asked, setting down his plate. 

Oh boy. Here we go. She turned her head. “Sam?”

Sam cleared his throat, mentally preparing himself. The atmosphere had suddenly changed, and Alan was clearly confused by it. His gaze went back and forth between the two of them, trying to decipher their expressions, waiting for Sam to speak. 

“Alan, what I’m about to tell you— you may not believe it. But I swear to you, everything I say is the truth. Please give me the benefit of the doubt and allow me to explain until i’m finished.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, releasing the awkwardness he felt out in small chuckle, “uh, shoot. I’m all ears.”

Quorra could feel herself holding her breath and slowly released it. 

“Alright,” he said, “You remember that night you came to me, when you got the page from my Dad?”

“Yeah. Because you sent the page.”

“I sent the second the page.”

“Yeah. And the first one.”

Sam shook his head. “I only sent the second one, asking you to come back to the arcade.”

“Sam,” Alan scoffed, “if you didn’t send the first one, then who did?”

Kevin Flynn’s corrupted program, Clu, Quorra thought. But she could see the hope in Bradley’s eye, knew Sam saw it too. He continued on.

“Did you know my father had a secret office? It’s underneath the arcade, behind _Tron_. You have to slide it over to get in.”

Alan’s expression shifted, the lines of his brow hardening as he processed what he just heard. “No, no I had no idea. You found an office?” 

“I did, yeah, that night. There’s a server inside, an old Encom server? When I couldn’t find the password to the computer, I tried the backdoor. Then I tried searching the history. I found a command for a laser that was behind me, and I clicked yes when prompted.”

“Ok?”

And Sam told him. Everything. From the digitization, to The Grid being real, to Clu’s oppression.

Quorra watched him as he absorbed the information. He wasn’t denying it, but she could tell this was the first time he had ever heard anything about this. When Sam got to the part about stealing a light jet after barely surviving the ambush at the End of Line Club, Alan took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait. Just… just wait. A second.” 

Sam stopped, allowing him time to collect his thoughts. When he looked over at Quorra, she tried to smile reassuringly: so far, so good. She pictured herself in Alan’s place: hearing a fantastic tale that went against what you knew were impossible feats of physics and science— and yet your godson insists that it’s true. She nodded to herself, confident that Alan’s intelligence and rationality would play out in their favor.

He was still staring at his glasses, though. After a moment, he cleaned them with his shirt and popped them back on. He motioned for Sam to continue. His voice once again filled the apartment, getting softer as he neared the end. Alan’s face fell when Sam told him how Flynn had sacrificed himself.

He was devastated. For a moment, Quorra thought he might cry, but he took a breath and steeled himself. When he cleared his throat and finally spoke, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. 

“I can’t help but think this is partially my fault.”

The minuscule change in Sam’s composure was a tilting axis. His mouth set into a firm line, his brow hardening ever so slightly into something verging on anger. Or betrayal. 

“What do you mean?”

“I knew he was working on something. He’d been asking about Lora’s laser program, and I assumed he was going to ask her to use it, or collaborate on something.” Alan rubbed at his forehead, as if polishing off an old memory in hopes to see it better. 

“I didn’t think he’d just build one from scratch. All he told me was that he was working on a very complex project, his ‘Digital Frontier’. _In there is a new world?_ I put two and two together, Sam. He’d created some sort of program or algorithm. I had no idea he’d gotten trapped in it, until now. I didn’t even know where it was— what the nature of it was until you just told me now.”

He fell back into his chair, hands in his lap. “God. All this time, and he was right there. _Right there!_ If I’d looked harder I could have—“

“Alan,” said Sam, laying a hand on his arm, “Don’t go there. He was so secretive about his work, you couldn’t have known. Even I thought the stories he used to tell me were just, you know, exaggerations.”

“But you saw him?” He asked, “You _saw_ him? And you’re absolutely sure he’s— dead?”

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah. I saw him. We were able to catch up, before. I told him about you, about the company,” He tried to smile.“About Wi-Fi.”

Alan let out a laugh, surprised. “Get a kick out of that, did he?”

“Yeah. Said he thought of it in ’85.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did. He was always thinking of the future, your old man. Thinking of ways to perfect it.” 

Sam’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “Yeah.” 

“This Clu that killed him, where did he come from?”

When Sam hesitated, Quorra piped up. ‘When he first arrived on The Grid, Flynn created a digital copy of himself. He named it Clu, and tasked him with creating the perfect system. What Clu saw as flaws in the system, Flynn began to see them as advantages, miracles, because they were flaws. Clu couldn’t understand that, and betrayed Flynn, trapping him in The Grid.”

“And then he sent the page? How?”

Quorra shook her head. “Clu sent you the page. He needed to open the portal again, so he could get through and escape. And it only opens when someone comes in.” 

Alan shook his head. His best friend, who he had advocated for, for years, hadn’t ‘run away from it all’, like the tabloids said. But he was gone. 

Kevin Flynn was dead. 

“Dad saved us,” Sam said, interrupting the silence, “He saved the world from Clu, Alan. He just couldn’t save himself.”

Alan opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. He took a breath and let it out. For one insane moment, Sam thought he was going to call him crazy. He felt like he’d been waiting for that moment all night. Instead, Alan laid a strong, grounding hand on his godson’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you were able to spend that time with him, at least. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m just sorry that right as you found him, you…” 

Alan sighed, a sharp, painful thing, and pulled Sam close to his chest. He hugged him tight, trying to convey with the action what he couldn’t in words, and Sam hugged him back. _I’m sorry that right as you found him, you lost him again. I’m sorry for all the time you never got to have together. I’m sorry that all you got were those few hours._

_I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I love exploring the after effects of how The Grid experience affects everyone. It kinda culminates in some sad moments, but I hope to be writing happier ones! Also, just a quick note: my style is constantly evolving so ... do expect some changes/ morphing of my narration. I'm always growing, so hopefully the later chapters will show that. I'm thinking about rewriting earlier chapters once I get to the end, but who knows what'll happen. If I do, I'll just upload that re-worked version as a "2.0" lol. Consider it the Directors Cut, ha. I'm not naive enough to think that I'll be able to just punch out more chapters in the next few months, but I'm optimistic that I'll be able to get one or two done over spring semester. Anyway, until next time! You can catch REAL TIME updates on my tumblr, @jonnyblackwrites, or just chill and enjoy the tron memes. And other memes. I contain multitudes! 
> 
> Also, thanks again to anyone who's read! I hope you're enjoying the ride!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!! Two chapters in a 3 months time period?? That's right! I got a little ahead of myself, and here we are! Oh, I did update chapter two to better reflect Sam and Quorra's relationship. It's a very small change, like less than twenty words. But it was important to me. Enjoy!

AFTER THEIR EMBRACE, he’d awkwardly excused himself to wash the plates in the kitchen. He could hear Quorra and Alan talking softly behind him, and he was pretty sure he was asking her everything about being an ISO.

So now he knew that Alan had been, for the most part, kept in the dark about The Grid. To be truthful, he hadn’t expected more than that. If he _had_ known about the Grid and not done anything about it? What a lousy friend, to leave your godson’s father trapped in a computer. 

_But if he had known, if he’d even helped Dad build it,_ he thought, _we’d be able to build it again, easy._

Sam sighed as he finished washing the forks, setting them aside on the rack to dry. Well, Alan was still a smart programmer and they _were_ working with a program that had been written in the 80’s. Alan could still help them. 

All he had to do was ask. Explain why they were rebuilding it in the first place. 

But maybe that was a conversation for another night. They’d just told him that Kevin was dead. Sam didn’t want to trouble him with their ridiculous plans to revive The Grid, not now. In a week or two maybe, when he’d had some time to grieve.

He made his way back to them, popping the tab on his can of coffee. He handed Quorra a glass of water (she couldn’t drink Powerade _all_ the time) and was about to offer to brew Alan a cup when he realized they were no longer talking.

“Well,” Alan said, rising from the chair, “I think i’m going to head home. It’s late and Lora’s probably asleep by now.”

“You sure, Al? I could put some coffee on for you, help you stay awake on the drive home.”

The smile he gave him didn’t reach his eyes. “Honestly, kid, I don’t think i’m going to have trouble staying awake.”

Sam nodded, and rose to walk Alan out. He said goodbye to Quorra, telling her again what a pleasure it was to meet her, and hugged his godson once more. When the garage door finally slid closed, and it was just them again, he collapsed on the couch next to her. 

She was looking at something on her phone, her other hand contemplating the rim of her glass. He had been nervous to tell Alan about The Grid, but he didn’t realize until they met that he was nervous about Alan meeting Quorra too. He’d watched them carefully, relieved that the evening hadn’t been full of awkward pauses and small talk. They both seemed genuinely interested to learn about the other. It was stupid, he shouldn’t have been nervous. But aside from Marvin, Quorra and Alan had become the two most important people in his life. He wanted them to get along. 

She laughed at something on her phone. After a moment of scrolling, her eyes flicked up and she seemed lost in thought. 

“So,” he said, balancing his coffee on the arm of the couch.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of the third User you’ve ever met?”

She let her head fall back on the couch. “I’ve met _other_ Users, Sam.”

“I know, but you know.”

She nodded. “He’s nice. I like him. I’m glad he was there for you when you were a kid.”

“Yeah. You know, I was kinda nervous about you two meeting.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “Alan’s my friend, my Godfather. You’re my friend. And my hero, I think. Heroine?” 

“Really?” she asked, pleased. 

“Quorra, you have saved me from death multiple times,” he told her, “that definitely qualifies you as my hero.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said, her grin smug. “You know, I was a little nervous myself. We all heard stories of Tron in The Grid. Meeting his creator was… interesting.”

He looked at her. Were her cheeks pink? “What? Were you star stuck?” 

She tipped her head. “A little. Tron was a great warrior. Bradley wrote him.” She sat up suddenly, turning to Sam.

“And he could help us. He could help us re-write The Grid.” 

“Maybe,” he said. “He’s smart, but I don’t want to bother him with that right now. I want to give him some time.” 

She nodded, leaned back again.

“He took it well. The Grid,” she said,“I thought we might have to drag him to the arcade if he didn’t believe you, but he did.”

“Thank God,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. It was almost done, and he could taste the dregs of it on his tongue like fine sand. “Really didn’t feel like driving down there tonight.”

Quorra shrugged. _She_ probably wouldn’t have minded. After seeing how much she enjoyed breaking the speed limit, he bet she’d love to go out driving every night. Maybe he should get her a motorcycle. It was much easier to get away with speeding on one. She would love it. 

“Will he be alright?” She asked.

He rubbed his neck. “I’ll text him tomorrow, ask him how he’s doing. He never believed the rumors about my dad, you know? Never gave up. He’ll be okay.”

Satisfied, she finished the last of her water. The way the condensation ran down the glass made it look like tears. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, the other night. When she told him how much she’d been struggling with adjusting. He should have asked her how she was doing, but damn it, he’d been so focused on getting The Grid up and running again.

He thought he was the only one who had been experiencing a change since that night. She’d trusted him with her troubles- maybe it was time he did the same. 

“Lora is… his wife?” she said then, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. She designed the laser that my dad used.”

“Will he tell her?”

“Probably. She was my dad’s friend too. They dated, before she and Alan were a thing. There’s no reason not to tell her.” 

She seemed like she was going to say something, and then didn’t. He didn’t ask. He checked the time. Alan had only left an hour ago, but it was very late. Or more accurately,very, very early. 

Quorra was typing something on her laptop, focused. He had to tell her. Maybe she already knew. But he had to say it so it was in the air, so they were on the same page. She closed her laptop and stood. Before she could leave, he stopped her. 

“Quorra?” 

“Yeah?”

“You know why I’m doing this, right? You know?”

He watched as she mentally ran through a list of things he might be referring to. “Telling Alan?”

“No. Why I want to re-write The Grid.”

“Oh,” she said, leaning her hip on the edge of the couch. The way she looked at him… it was kindness and knowing and it made him feel open. Too open.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t helping you for the same reasons. Even If I know better.”

He still hadn’t really told her. He waited for her to go on, but quickly gathered that she was giving him a chance to speak, to explain. He took a breath and went for it.

“I know what I saw. But what if? Quorra, _what if?_ By some miracle, my dad could be alive. And we both know miracles happen in there.”

“I know,” she said, “Believe me, I know. But, Sam-“ she paused. She lifted her hand as if she could catch the right words in them and let it fall. 

“I know it’s probably impossible,” he continued, “that the chances of us finding him in there are slim. Slimmer than that, even. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

“I’ve run after ghosts before Sam,” she said, “and I know what it feels like when you reach for them only to catch air.”

“I get that I might be setting myself up for disappointment—”

“You _are_ setting yourself up for disappointment. I am too,” she admitted, “because despite myself, I still hope. So i’m doing this with you because you can’t let it go. I couldn’t either, until I was sure.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, each regarding the other’s words. If he felt open a moment ago, now he felt transparent. Of course she knew why he was really so intent on restoring The Grid— she’d lost people, too. More than he could even comprehend. 

She launched herself off the couch. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. I’m going to bed. It’s late. You should sleep too.”

He told her he wanted to clean up a bit and bid her goodnight as she disappeared down the hallway. 

When he was sure he heard the door to her bedroom click shut, he started to put away the dishes, now dry on the rack. He played their conversation back in his mind as he picked at a piece of dried cheesecake the sponge missed. She must have held out hope for a while that she wasn’t the last ISO. He couldn’t imagine it. Going for so long, thinking you can’t be the last one, that there has to be _someone_ out there. 

Hoping to God that you weren’t as alone as you felt. 

A person can only take so much. At some point, she probably _had_ to stop herself hoping, just to keep from going insane with it. Or, heartbreakingly, she found that she really was the last ISO. He thought about Alan, believing in Kevin Flynn for decades, never letting himself think the worst.

Was that so different? Alan never let that belief run his life. He got married, moved on, had a career. And then, tonight, he learned the truth. The look on his face almost made Sam wish he’d let Alan live in blissful ignorance, but he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to look Alan in the eyes ever again, burdened with the knowledge of what really happened. 

Telling Alan everything tonight was surprisingly _relieving_. 

He hadn’t realized how much the memories of his time in the Grid had been pushing at the seams of his mind. He’d been so concentrated on keeping everything to himself, Quorra, his father, his body being digitized; he didn’t know how much the pressure of that had been building up until he released it. 

There was even that one, horrible second of time when Alan hugged him. He felt happy that he wasn’t the only one who knew anymore. While Alan was devastated, Sam almost sighed in relief. 

He knew that was normal. He’d been keeping a huge secret, and anyone in his place would feel the same. He’d just have to feel shitty about it for a while, then forget it. 

The dishes were all washed and put away, but he didn’t feel like sleeping just yet. As quietly as possible, he let Marvin out in the yard, then grabbed the kitchen cleaner and wiped down the table. Then he cleaned the counters, let Marvin back in, swept the kitchen (the vacuum cleaner was too loud), and finally he felt tired enough to lay down.

Aw, shoot. He’d forgotten to ask Quorra if she wanted to go out tomorrow. Oh well. He’d ask her in the morning. 

He was just about to fall asleep when his thoughts drifted to Dillinger Jr. 

_We’re not our fathers, are we?_

He shifted, turned over on his side. Tried laying on his stomach. Maybe he was his father, obsessing over The Grid. Maybe Ed was too, intent on taking the company back from under Sam’s nose, back into the hands of a Dillinger. 

Maybe it was all nonsense. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

There was one way he could find out, though. It was a little dirty, and he wasn't sure how legal it actually was. Before he could forget it, before he let his eyelids slip closed, he brought up the “notes” app on his phone, and typed a quick sentence:

Spy on Ed, hack computer. Ask Quorra. Breakfast.

He was a Flynn, after all. Wasn’t he? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i'm so tired, but I wanted to get this out as soon as possible. As always, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that's subscribed! I had a week before my quarter starts so I used it outline a few more chapters and finish this one up! Luckily i'm only taking one class this summer so I should have another chapter out soon. I hope you're all enjoying the story!

A drop of spicy chorizo fell smack on the Del Taco wrapper, and Sam chased it with his finger. The last time he braved being in public for fast food must have been, God… weeks ago. Grease was sliding down his arm, staining it bright orange, and he wiped it up with a tortilla.

Man, grease like this? You couldn't get grease like this at home. And nothin’ tastes like coke fresh out of a soda fountain. He focused on the food in his mouth, his elbows on the dingy plastic table. 

For the first time in weeks, he felt real. 

He had a dream last night and hejust couldn’t remember it. He woke up feeling weird, like he’d just re-entered his body from somewhere else. He was freezing cold, disgustingly slick with sweat, covers twisted all around him. Heart pounding and still bleary, he looked down at his hands, chest, and a thought pushed it’s way to the front of his mind: _this isn’t real._ He laid in bed until the usual time he woke, watched the sun slowly creep up to the ceiling, painting the room with soft blues that gradually gave way to a warm yellow. Then his gut clenched. He sprang out of bed, pinched the skin on the inside of his arm to feel something. _Something_. Anything that linked him to this reality. 

He _wasn’t_ a digital dream. He was real. He proved it to himself again now, taking another metallic-spicy bite of the burrito, bit off great pieces of it that almost burned his throat, until it was down to the wrapper. 

His stomach sagged, heavy, and it helped. He felt like solid enough to stay.

“So what did you want to ask me?” Quorra said, reaching into the cheddar potato poppers. 

He wiped his face with a napkin until there was nothing left to wipe. Then he smeared another across his clean mouth, stalling. He almost didn’t want to ask her. It wasn’t just his ass on the line this time— he was dragging her into it too. But more than anything, he wanted her watching his back. If she was there, next to him, then everything would be fine. 

“I, uh,” he glanced at the other diners, making sure no one was listening to them, “need to get a look at Dillinger’s computer.” 

She ate a popper. “Okay.”

“At night,” he continued, “Ikinda need you to watch his desk while I access it from my office.”

“You think he’ll be making a midnight visit to Encom?” 

They couldn’t be seen. If anyone saw them fishing around in employee computers late at night, it wouldn’t look good. Even though, legally, he owned even the word docs on every Encom computer, people would want to know why he was digging around in the first place. Actually, that was a shitty policy. Encom should be a place it’s employees can use as a resource. They shouldn’t have to worry about having their intellectual property stolen… He made a mental note to talk to Encom’s lawyers. 

For now though, he couldn’t deny that it worked in his favor. 

He shrugged. “Wanna be my lookout?” 

“When? Tonight?”

“Yeah. But,” he said, reaching for his soda, “If I get caught, they’ll want to know why, and I won’t be able to tell them. It puts more focus on me than there already is, and on you. Makes us look suspicious.”

She scoffed, and drenched her taco in sauce. “Then we won’t get caught. But why are you looking at his work computer? If you really want to know what he’s up to, you should look at his personal. He has a laptop, doesn’t he? Phone?” 

How far would he be willing to go here? Sure, he’d broken the law before, spent a few nights in jail. That was before he was making decisions for Encom, though. He didn’t even know if Dillinger was actually planning anything, but that was the damn problem.

Was he being stupid? Dillinger knew about the intellectual property clause in his contract. He had to. Would he risk it? Encom _did_ have amazing resources, terabytes of storage at their disposable… But was he being too paranoid? He’d be risking a lot by snooping through _Dillinger’s_ hard drive specifically. Everyone knew the history there. And that alone could make people more curious than they already were. They’d start digging into Sam, and then Quorra ,and they’d find that she hadn’t even existed until a month ago. 

But the only way to know was to know, right?

“I want to check his work account first. Just to check. We might find nothing. Honestly, I kind of hope we do. Maybe i’m wrong about all this. And then,” he continued, “we can think about how best to get into one of his devices.”

Quorra nodded. They finished eating in silence, and when the food was gone, they got up to leave.He took a quick look around as he held the door open for her, just to see if there were any faces he recognized. 

Man, he really was paranoid. 

They planned it all on the way home. They were going tonight, under the pretense of the boss wanting to get some work done, just some BS that wouldn’t seem too out of character. And then Quorra’d watch Ed Jr’s desk from either her own on the same floor, or the security booth. 

“I should be in the booth,” she told him at the apartment. “It’s safer. Discreet. I can see the front door too, warn you.”

He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it onto a chair. Marvin came sniffing at his heels and he let him, scratched behind his ears. 

“Okay. So we go in, act like we know exactly what we’re doin’—“

Quorra stopped short, just in front of the hallway. “Don’t you?”

“I mean, I’ve never looked for employee logs before, but I’ll figure it out. Piece of cake, don't worry.”

“Sam!”

“What?” he said, holding up his hands defensively. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing?”

“It’s just logging into some files, Quorra. How hard could it be? I know they’re on my computer somewhere,” he told her. He could have sworn there was some… company portal, or something, last time he was on the dang thing. 

She half laughed, incredulous. “It’ll be a miracle if we even find anything then.” 

He said nothing, but the smirk he couldn’t suppress said it for him: _miracles happen in there. You did._

She snort-laughed, reading his mind, and disappeared down the hallway.

In his arms, Marvin licked his hand. “Yes, don’t worry, Marv,” he cooed, “I know what I’m doing. Mostly. 98%?”

Marvin’s little bug eyes blinked. 

From the fridge, he grabbed a can of coffee and popped the lid. The couch accepted him warmly, and he let Marvin lick the condensation from the cold metal. He really wanted to talk to Alan, but at the same time, he didn’t want to implicate him. If he kept him out of it, he’d have plausible deniability, just in case things went south. 

On the table, his phone chimed. It was an alert from the stock market app: Encom was steadily on the rise. A good sign— for his investors and the board, anyway. 

The only reason Sam hadn’t been left in complete obscurity when his father disappearedwas because of the stocks Kevin owned. He learned that after his “disappearance”, they were put aside in a trust for him. All he had to do was turn eighteen to claim it. Now, he knew his father did write a will, but he never got a chance to send it to anyone. He didn’t like thinking about having to do the same. But maybe he should. What if _he_ got lost in Grid 3.0?

Who would he leave the company to? Quorra was the first person he thought of,but she’d probably be with him, so the next logical choice was Alan. 

He thought about Alan in front of a host of microphones, telling the world that Sam Flynn would come back. 

_That won’t happen,_ he told himself _. It won’t._ He just wouldn’t get lost. 

He’d spent fifteen minutes googling California next of kin laws and “how to set up your own will” when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He quickly closed the tabs. 

“So then, I’ll be in the security booth,” Quorra said, hands on her hips, “Keep your phone on you, I’ll text you if I see anything.”

“Got it.”

“You should invite Dillinger to dinner.”

He almost choked on his coffee. Beside him, Marvin whined. “What?”

“In chess, you think two moves before your opponent,” she said, talking faster now, “Let’s say Dillinger is planning something. We can’t just wait for it to happen. We have to be the ones to make a move. So we get him close, and we clone his phone. Best case scenario? We get into his phone. Worst case? He knows exactly what we’re doing and brings a fake phone to dinner.”

“Yeah, and I have to eat dinner with him.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to connect all the dots at the same pace she was. “And if it’s a fake phone, wouldn’t it be a good fake? So if he’s good, the fake phone won’t have anything on it. And if we’re wrong, the real phone also won’t have anything on it. I don’t see how we win here.”

“Well, you asked about getting into his devices. That’s how.If you’re right, and he’s two steps ahead of us, then…trust your gut. You said you felt something was off when he shook your hand, right?”

She was right. His gut told him Edward was hiding something. “Then it’s pointless to clone his phone. He’d be expecting it.”

Quorra shrugged, reaching over to pet Marvin. 

Getting ready for what amounted to corporate espionage was surprisingly boring. In the past, he’d spend a good hour making sure he had everything, shoes that didn’t squeak, that his bike was full of gas. Making sure his backpack was full of extra batteries and spray paint and bail money. But since he had administrative access, they didn’t… need any of that. All they did was lounge around the apartment until it was almost time to go and they did. The only difference between them that afternoon and them now was that they were both wearing business casual.

Lame. 

But it was nice driving to Encom at night. _This_ part was the same at least. What was really strange was driving to Encom during the day. At night he drove on muscle memory, and he could almost imagine that he wasn’t the CEO of Encom. He was a kid again, just playing prank on the company that dared called itself Encom without even trying to recognize the work of his father. 

_Good old days_ , he thought, laughing in spite of himself. 

It was better now, wasn’t it? With him in the driver’s seat. He hoped he was doing what was best for Encom. Felt in his bones that he was _right_ — but there was that terrible edge not far away that threatened failure. 

He wouldn’t let Encom fail. He’d make it a company worth noting again. He knew he would. 

The parking garage was eerily empty when they got out of the car, the bright incandescent lights making everything look flat. Their footsteps echoed grimly, too loud to their ears, until they finally entered the quiet, dim lobby.

“I kinda miss breaking in,” Sam whispered, “We should have broken in. That would’ve been fun.” 

“Next time,” Quorra promised. 

He grinned in response. Why were they whispering, though? No one was there. He opened his mouth to tell her “we can probably stop whispering,” when they were stopped by a bright, blinding beam of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THEY'RE EATING AT DEL TACO lol. I freaking love del taco. Also WOOHOO mac finally updated pages so now I can type this in black paper. I feel like i'm using a terminal, ha. 
> 
> *hacker voice* I'm in the Grid.


End file.
